TES V: The Dragon Thief
by JereBear2281
Summary: What happens when a thief with a mysterious past succeeds in pulling off the "heist of the century," and then flees to Skyrim when he's confronted a year later? -This is just a non-fleshed out, rough draft to see if anyone likes the concept. If you like it, please tell me so I can actually put some effort into a full series.


The Elder Scrolls:

The Dragon Thief

Prologue

It was a dark, foggy night. A thick layer of clouds blocked out all the light from the moon; his spell had worked. The only lights that shined on the exterior of the gigantic estate were the magically-lit lanterns. It was time to leave the area without a trace. He had pulled it off.

"The heist of the century," a cloaked man whispered to himself. Wrapped in a dark green cloak and clad in lightweight leather armor, he silently headed away from the estate, which was more of a castle than anything. Slung over his shoulder was some sort of object, about four feet long, heavily wrapped in durable cloth.

This was the home of the Silver-Dragon family, one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Highrock. Despite being a mainly Breton family, they were sometimes married to Nord outsiders, mainly for political or financial reason. The Silver- Dragons were one of the oldest families in Highrock, and had earned the fear and respect of the province. Their estate was located in the Southern mountains, secluded from society; a perfect location to be robbed, if someone could actually make it past the numerous guards and defenses.

And tonight, someone had. The man hurried now, knowing that the family would soon discover that their most sacred possession had been stolen. And when they found that out, they'd quickly send out their tracking atronachs, and it wouldn't take them long to find the thief. All he had to do was make it through the mountains and to the coast. There, he had a small ship waiting to take him to the Summerset Isles, where he already had a buyer lined up. After that, he planned to sail to Elsweyr and start a new, fresh life, as he'd be a wanted criminal for life after this.

The reward for all this risk and trouble? What could possibly make this endeavor worth it? For one, he'd go down in history as the man to do what over a hundred thieves before him couldn't do. But that's not all of course. The financial compensation was promised to be immense; over 80,000 septims in precious jewels, 50,000 septims up front, a letter of credit for 500,000 septims, and two beautiful estates, one in Valenwood and one in Elsweyr. The promised jewels being located in the Valenwood estate, while the Elsweyr estate would contain a large armory filled with over 800,000 septims worth of arms and armor. The final payoff would be a new life and roughly a total of 1,500,000 septims if all the jewels and other items were sold, not including the estates themselves. An immense reward for this one item.

He could taste the salt in the air now, wafting from the Sea of Ghosts. The coast was in sight, and he rushed for his boat, raised the sail, and cast a spell to make the still air transform into powerful winds. The ship glided smoothly across the black waters, invisible in the moonless night.

"This is it," the man whispered from beneath the cowl of his cloak. At that moment, the thick layer of clouds began to break, and a small beacon of light shown down on his face, causing his eyes to glimmer a striking blue, like the blue eyes common of Nords. He took one last look back at Highrock, his homeland he'd never be able to return to, sighed, and headed to the cabin of the boat, exhausted from his operation.

…

"Gods be damned!" the thief cursed under his breath, running through the forests of Northern Cyrodiil. Roughly a year had passed since the heist, and now he had been on the run for ten days. He had no idea how it had happened, but somehow, someone, found out that he was the one that stole from the Silver-Dragons.

It happened back in Elsweyr, he had been sorting through his armory at his rewarded estate, when someone knocked on his door. When he answered, he was confronted by a large, intimidating Alter wrapped in a black cloke. The Mer immediately started barking questions at him, asking what he had done with, what he referred to as, "the key."

What was stolen from the Silver-Dragons was most definitely not a key of any sort, but knowing what he meant by it, the blue-eyed thief quickly dodged past his interrogator and fled the scene, not even bothering to grab anything he owned. He ran north quite a distance until he arrived in a small town on the border, in which he waited until night, then went and stole a horse from the local stables.

Now here he was, running on foot through the Imperial forests, as his horse had died from exhaustion several miles back. Even though he knew that there was no one in pursuit, he kept on running. He had no idea where he was going, but he knew that if he got caught, there'd be no future for him.

"You there! Halt!" the thief froze in his tracks. He contemplated reaching for his ebony dagger and summoning a familiar to fight off whomever this was, but he decided against it. Raising his hands up, he slowly turned to see a young-ish Nord man, probably in his late 20's or early 30's, with red hair. He was clad in leather armor with red accents, and had a steel sword with the Empire's symbol etched into the hilt buckled at his waist.

"An Imperial soldier? Don't you know who I am? How dare you sto-" the thief cut himself off, not realizing what he was saying at first. Had he just jeopardized his cover? "N-nevermind what I just said," he stuttered nervously, "what do you want with me?"

The Nord gave him a suspicious look, then replied, "pull back your hood and come with me." The soldier looked, expectantly at the thief, and when he had yet to move, he rested his hand on the hilt of this sword.

"Fine, fine," the thief quickly said, wanting to avoid conflict. "Happy?" he sneered, pulling his cowl back to reveal his blue eyes, long, brown hair, and the beginning stages of a beard. He looked fairly young, mid 20's, and was almost definitely a Breton. He walked up to the soldier, who now had a small bundle of rope in his hands.

"Turn around, hands behind your back," the Nord commanded in his thick accent. The Breton obliged, and soon had his hands restrained tightly behind him. "Now come on," the soldier said, walking away.

The thief reluctantly followed. At that moment, it started to snow lightly. He looked around, and was surprised to see that the oaks of Cyrodiil had turned into pine trees. "How far did I run?" he muttered to himself.

"What was that?" the soldier asked, hearing the prisoner's murmuring.

"What?" the thief was snapped out of him thoughts. "Oh, um, where are we?"

The soldier eyed him wearily. "You don't know? We're in Southern Skyrim," the soldier explained. "And you're under arrest for crossing the border illegally, and for being a possible accessory to murder."

"Murder? What murder?!" the Breton was caught off guard, shocked. That was the last thing he expected to hear.

"Oh, have you really not heard? The High King has been murdered by Ulfric Stomcloak. We intercepted them around here and were ordered to arrest everyone in the area," the Nord explained, "and that includes you."

The thief kept silent as the walked through the snowy forest, he was too busy thinking everything over to reply. He had heard of the Stormcloak rebellion going on in Skyrim, but he had no idea that it had become this intense. And if was being arrested along with a group of Stormcloaks, what was in store for him next? He had a good idea, and he didn't like the thought of it one bit. He had worked too hard, risked too much, to get and early retirement from life, and even if he couldn't go back to that, he wasn't about to let himself get executed.

"We're here," the voice of the soldier snapped the Breton from his thoughts. He looked up to see several horse-drawn carts lined with Stormcloak prisoners. He could help but be impressed by the resilient Nords; even though they were captured and being transported to their death, they still wore faces of defiance. Not a single one was scared of their impending demise.

The thief was placed, roughly, in a cart with, to his surprise, Ulfric Stormcloak himself. At least, that's who he figured it was, being the only man dressed nicely, and not in armor or rags. The rebel leader caught him staring and shot him a glare. The Breton looked away, tilted his head back, and watched the snowflakes fall as the cart began to move. He let out a sigh, as he began planning his escape.


End file.
